


Commercialize Your PHD

by thought



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Body Sharing, Gen, M/M, ambiguous setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-23 22:23:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14942457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thought/pseuds/thought
Summary: "We are not kidnapping Roy Mustang," Ling says. Which is a mistake.





	Commercialize Your PHD

**Author's Note:**

> With a million thanks/blame to [SK](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/toomanyhometowns) for finding my typos and also for predicting I'd love Greedling four years before I actually watched the show, and to [PS](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/psidn) for starting me on my descent into FMA hell and accompanying me there, episode by episode. And to both of them for putting up with me throwing drafts of this at them in chat completely unprompted, and for listening to me worldbuild at completely random moments of the day.  
> Additional note: this is a universe with no alchemy but there are still homunculi, please just go with me here.

"What the fuck?" Ed says, and then, "Holy shit, are you actually doing office hours? Hang on, I need to take a picture for twitter."

"Get out," Greed says. Or maybe it's Ling. Hard to see the colour of their eyes when they've got their entire face buried in a giant mug of tea. It says 'WORLD'S BEST GRANDMA!' on the side. Ed decides it's better not to ask.

"No. No I will not. What the fuck is this?!"

"Paper," Greed (he's just going to guess until he can confirm) says, flatly. "You're welcome, that'll be $300."

"That's outrageous," Ed says, stepping fully into the office. "You're pricing yourself out of the market."

Greed finally looks up just so he can flutter his eyelashes. "I'll have you know you're getting the flatmate discount. I'm worth a lot more than that."

Their face does something weird. Greed presses his fist against his mouth, rolls his eyes extravagantly. "This is your bi-weekly reminder that Ling has never had to worry about money in his entire life and he can shut the fuck up about my past life choices. Especially when I was in my own fucking body at the time."

"Oh," says Ed. "I need to be drunk for this conversation, I'm sorry. Winry has some... opinions?"

"Someone rescue her from the undergrad feminists," Greed says. "That's a quote, by the way, Lan Fan said it first, you can ask her. Please ask her, actually, her lecture is the most satisfying thing I've experienced in literal years."

"I didn't come here to talk about you," Ed says, waving the printouts he's been clutching all the way across campus from the Chem building. The corner of the paper is all crumpled and sweaty from his palm, and he’s pretty sure he’s got at least four papercuts.

"Oh," says Greed. "In that case I'm bored, you can leave."

"When I said I was having a hard time finding a job that interests me, I didn’t mean 'hey, Greed, please show me all the ways I can offer myself back to the military on a silver platter!' I left for a reason! I left for like, twenty reasons!"

"Was one of those reasons 'my commanding officer loves regulations more than he loves fucking me?'"

All the blood promptly vacates Ed's head, and he has to rest a super-casual hand on the doorframe to keep from staggering. There's no fucking way they could know. It's obviously just a really obnoxious coincidence that Greed chose to bring up Mustang when Ed hasn't even mentioned him in like, five years or whatever. He makes a face that he hopes communicates 'You're disgusting and I hate you', instead of 'I have been emotionally compromised since I was 18 years old and maybe if we actually had fucked I could have gotten over him'.

Greed doesn't notice anything. Ling probably has, but he doesn't comment. "Anyway, I wasn't even the one who sent those job postings, so you can get the fuck out of my face," Greed says, leaning back in his chair. It's all fancy and ergonomic and shit, because Greed and Ling are straight up two of the worst people he knows and listen, Ed respects his department's budget, he will continue to perch on rickety plastic and stained cushions even if it makes his hip and shoulder ache like there's fire in his bones.

"For fuck's sake. I should have known. Let me talk to him."

Greed frowns for a minute. "Yeah, that's a hard no. Please try again later. Oh wait. No, the other thing."

"Tell him he's a fucking coward."

"He's listening."

"I'm sending Al after you to elaborate on the evils of the military industrial complex," Ed warns Ling. “He might even cry. See how you feel then."

"Honestly, kid, just delete the email if it pisses you off that much. I know you sciency types have a hard time with reading--"

"Oh no, you shut the fuck up, you don't even have a degree, this shit is bad enough when Ling pulls it, just because I don't speak twenty languages and don't swoon at the words ‘first edition’--" This is... not entirely true, but he'd spent actual years looking for that Victorian-era book on alchemy, there are only 10 copies in the world. And it's different when it's science. Well... mostly fake science, but it had been legit at the time and some of the theories were still applicable to a degree.

"He's actually very well-read," Ling says, making a face down at the mug he's still holding and setting it aside. "Knowledge is often easy to acquire, and there's so much of it."

"Are you telling me he self-medicates with books?"

"He had to find something. 200 years is a long time. A good book can be very relaxing. Let me know if you want to give it a try sometime, I'll come to the library with you and reach all the high shelves."

"I'm changing our fucking locks," Ed says, darkly. "If you like the library so much you can sleep there."

"Technically, the flat belongs to me."

"And technically, I know how to blow it up with just the contents of our broom closet. But you don't see me taking advantage of that, do you?"

"Only because we charged you a ridiculous damage deposit," Ling points out. That had been Greed's idea, though Ed hadn't known it at the time.

"Whatever," says Ed. "Just don't send me this shit, ok? I'm already being headhunted, I don't need it coming from all sides. You know I want to use my work to do something positive."

"So you'll sell out to big pharma, but not to the military that paid for half your schooling in the first place."

Ed glares. "Saying 'big pharma' just makes you sound like a conspiracy nut."

"And refusing to even contract with the military because of your morals makes you sound like a tree-hugger."

Ed waves his prosthetic hand in Ling's face. "I've given enough of myself to the military. Literally. They don't get my research just so they can turn it into biological weapons."

Ling touches the back of Ed's hand lightly. "I know, Ed. I'm not saying you haven't done your duty and sacrificed for it."

Ed pulls away uncomfortably, and busies himself folding the printouts into a tiny square. "Just leave it alone. Bad enough R-- people. From the military. Keep emailing me. Random people. Strangers." Ed wonders if he'd survive jumping out the window. It's only two floors down, he'd probably make it.

"This is why emotional connections are terrible," Greed says,

and Ling says, "Ohhhh. Oh that's unfortunate-- Edward, I hate to pry, but did you and he ever actually sleep together while you were still under his command?"

Ed leaves. He's still considering changing the locks.

By the time he's back across campus and has tucked himself into his corner of the lab with his headphones on and a collection of datasets sprawled across his laptop screen he's calmed down a little. His flatmates are still assholes, but it's not like this is news. And it's totally possible Ling really is just socially clueless enough to not realize why flooding Ed's email with military shit might be a tad upsetting. Ling can play a room of strangers like a chessboard, but drop him in a group of people he actually cares about and he's usually a goddamn mess.

He goes to his email to do exactly what Greed suggested-- if he lets Ling's email sit there, lurking in his inbox, he'll be avoiding even opening his inbox by tomorrow. Better to deal with it now while he can still blame the uncomfortable sloshing feeling in his stomach on the probably expired, probably orange juice in the lab fridge.

He has a new message from Roy. It's just a stupid cat video that had been going around the internet like, six months ago, but Ed will give Roy some leeway because of his advanced age. He tells him so, then clicks send before he can start barfing the rest of his emotions into the little text box. He's pretty sure the only reason he and Roy have spoken more in the last three months than they have in the last eight years is because of the military's interest in Ed's research. They both know Ed's never gonna sign anything (at least Ed assumes Roy knows) but he also doesn't see any need in poking the pink elephant unnecessarily. He doesn't wanna make Roy feel bad about doing his job, and he also doesn't want Roy to stop talking to him. Or get in trouble. Their email is probably being monitored.

He figures as long as he never comes right out and says 'no', there's a chance Roy will continue talking to him. Which... is probably a little pathetic, but with Al in a different sketchy hostel in a different fucking country every week, and Ling coming closer and closer to his thesis defense and dragging Greed down with him, Ed's social life has pretty much consisted of one or two awkward pub nights with fellow stressed out students and he and Winry's ongoing mission to try every possible frozen yogurt flavour combination from every possible shop in the city. Emails and the occasional text chat with Roy have become the highlights of his fucking days. He's fully aware how sad that is, and he's fully aware how much he doesn't give a shit. Not like anybody needs to know. Not like it's going to come to anything.

*

Ling is dangerously close to falling asleep on his laptop when, from the back of his mind, Greed says, _Elric has no idea that Mustang's getting blackmailed, does he?_

Ling rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. _Not the slightest, no._

_This is what having good parents does to you,_ Greed mutters. _You don't understand the basics of how authority works._

_Leave him his charmed parental memories,_ Ling scolds. _He could just as easily learn this by reading some actual literary fiction once in a while. You might say reality doesn't mirror fiction but look at the circumstances and tell me there's literally any other way this could go._

_I've never said that, actually, but thanks for putting words in my mouth._

_It's a turn of phrase. And besides, you've put worse in ours._

Greed manages to project the precise feeling of rolling his eyes without actually taking any physical control. _You really are a child._

_You walked right into that, I won't apologize. And it isn't as if you've never judged my taste._

_Jesus fuck, tell me you and Elric never--_

Ling grins a bit. _Which one?_

_I fucking hate you. Ugh, I'm never unseeing this._

_Settle down, I've never. You'd know if I had._

_I don't know what you get up to when I'm asleep._

Ling's stomach does something uncomfortable. _I'd fucking ask, for one thing._ He starts stacking the books spread out on the table, slamming the heavy volumes down with satisfying thwacks, almost jarring after the silence outside of their head.

Greed doesn't apologize. Ling wouldn't expect it of him, but he's still left feeling vaguely sick and guilty for something he hasn't even done.

He snaps a photo of the stack of books and sends it to Ed.

'Is this my pillow for the night or am I forgiven?'

Ed texts back immediately, which means he's probably on one of those self-betterment kicks where he pretends he can fall asleep at a reasonable hour without lying awake in a grumpy pile of anxieties for half the night. This also means there's going to be kale in the fridge. Ling makes a note to buy extra snacks for himself.

'you're forgiven on a trial basis'  
'make pancakes in the morning'

Ling returns his books and pulls up the hood of his jacket as he exits the library. He walks off campus so he can buy shitty over-sweetened coffee from a gas station, then winds up cutting through a back alley to get to the nearest metro station, kicking dead leaves and garbage into tiny tornados around his feet. He calls Lan Fan while he walks.

"No," she says as soon as she picks up.

"I'm hurt," Ling considers turning on video just so she can see the full force of his pout. "What if I needed a kidney?"

"Definitely no," she says, flatly. "I'm still recovering from boat liberation."

Ling winces. "That's... listen, it seemed like a necessary thing at the time, and like Greed keeps reminding me, nobody even got arrested."

"I broke my arm. My only remaining flesh arm, Yao."

"And we got a concussion and a lecture on personal safety from Edward fucking Elric, everybody lost. Which is another reason I'm calling you, by the way, if anyone asks I am taking all the reasonable precautions needed to be walking down this abandoned alleyway after dark."

She actually laughs under her breath, which is very validating. Her grandfather had taught them both how to defend themselves and then some when they were teenagers, yet Ed still often hovers over Ling like some sort of pseudo-elder brother. Or at least what the Elrics consider brotherly, which is so far from what Greed or Ling has experienced with their respective clusterfuck of siblings that it mostly just reads as patronizing.

"So why did you call, aside from keeping away the flood of potential muggers?"

"I wanted to know if any of your unsettling network of connections reaches into the military? Like... this country's military, I mean."

"If you’re calling me to talk about Elric's sex life I'm throwing my phone and also you into the river."

"Only indirectly. I hope."

"What are you trying to do?"

"I just want to get the pressure off of Edward to contract with the military or sell his research. Greed and I are fairly certain someone is using his former commanding officer/love of his life to push him into it, and I can't see Mustang doing that sort of thing willingly. At least, not from what Ed told us about him."

_Love of his life?_ Greed demands. _You've been watching too many shitty romance movies. They're probably just fuckbuddies._

_I think they're cute._

_I'm painfully aware._

"I don't know anyone who would be able to do anything about it," Lan Fan says. She sounds very slightly out-of-breath, which probably means she's somewhere she shouldn't be, like fifty feet up the side of the skeleton of a future block of flats, danger signs and construction equipment cheerfully ignored. It's a little like when Ed decides to do "science!" in their kitchen at midnight. Ling is fully confident in his friends' stunning levels of competence and appreciation for safety, but he's still reserving the right to say 'I told you so' if one of their unnecessarily risky schemes lands them in hospital/prison.

"Besides," Lan Fan continues. "Rumours about Mustang are more likely to run in your circles than mine."

Ling's mind makes the jump first, but Greed is the one who says something. "Oh holy shit, he's actually doing it? This is going to be a goddamn Shakespeare play, I can't wait."

Ling is laughing silently, but manages to get out, "Vote Mustang!"

"Yes, if any hint of impropriety comes out, he'll have a lot more to lose than his military career."

"Whoever wants Ed's research must have some pretty damning evidence," Ling says. "I thought better of both of them, honestly."

"I didn't," Greed and Lan Fan say at the same time.

"Do you regret not doing law school now?" Lan Fan asks. "You could have made so much money defending him."

"Only if it came out after he's been elected. I don't think soldiers exactly make a fortune."

_You could probably get in as a staffer on his campaign,_ Greed points out.

_I don't hate myself quite that much, thank you. I'd like to be hirable ten years from now._

"Let me know what you're planning to do with that information," Lan Fan says. "Mostly so I know where the danger zones are and can stay far away."

"I'm not planning to do anything with it. I might make a few very casual inquiries, but I doubt I could get anywhere near the blackmailers without drawing the wrong kind of attention. I know people but not nearly as many as I would if my parents still considered me a member of the family. It's unfortunate, the networking possibilities I lost there."

"It is," Lan Fan says. "I'll do a little poking online. If nothing else I should warn the blackmailers that they don't actually want Elric. He'll drive them to drink within a week."

"He's charmingly direct," Ling says. "That being said, Ed's romantic future isn't worth jail time. Don't get caught doing... whatever you're planning on doing."

"I have never gotten caught in my life," she says. "Alternatively, we could just kidnap Mustang and lock him in your bathroom until everyone thinks he's dead. It might put a dent in his political aspirations but I’m sure Ed's, uh, charms, would make up for it."

"We are not kidnapping Roy Mustang," Ling says, which is a mistake.

*

Greed does not make pancakes in the morning.

"Wake up," he pokes at Ling even as he pounds on Ed's door to deliver the same order. It's too fucking hot in the flat again, which means Ed turned up the heat and will be paying the fucking heating bill this month. Or hey, maybe they'll just unplug the fridge to make up the difference. Not like anybody's fucking using it, apparently.

_"It's too early,"_ Ling tells him.

_"You don't even know what time it is."_

_"Don't care."_

"What the fuck, do you know what time it is?" Ed yells through the door, but when he slams it open he's already wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, so it isn't like Greed woke him up.

"We're going grocery shopping, motherfucker," Greed says, darkly. "Get your wallet."

"I'm kind of in the middle of something."

"Don't care," Greed says, even as Ling's immediate thoughts of 'sexting, concerning chemical experiments, heartwarming brotherly conversations' bounce off his awareness like very aggressive pebbles.

_"It's probably Netflix, calm down,"_ Greed says.

"Whatever," says Ed, but he doesn't close his door when he turns back into his room so Greed assumes he'll reappear soon enough.

Ling takes a picture of the inside of the fridge while they wait, grimy glass shelves seeming even emptier for the few lonely condiments shoved to the back. He posts it to twitter.

#betrayal

"You're so fucking dramatic," Ed says, coming out of his room with his eyes fixed on the screen of his phone. "Have you ever considered going to a doctor to find out why your body sucks so much?"

"My body does not suck," Ling says, indignant. He runs a hand through his bangs and subtly flexes in the reflection from the kitchen window. Greed's gotta agree with him. They keep things looking good.

"Oh my God, I meant about the thing where you literally pass out if you don't eat, but never mind, I changed my mind, I hope you pass out in a gutter and get shit on by the seagulls."

"That's oddly specific, but points for creativity," Ling chirps. Inside, Ling's memories are swirling up around them both, eight years old on the steps of his fancy new school, waiting to return to his fancy new house, and watching as the older boy who makes fun of his English has his entire sandwich snatched away by a passing seagull. Fifteen and curling up under his expensive coat behind a dumpster because there are no shops around and he knows he's going to black out soon without anything to eat but he refuses to go home, he won't, he just needs to figure something out.

The memories piss Greed off. He should've been there. Ling should've been-- something. Better at taking care of himself. Greed can't stand seeing anything that's his come to harm, and Ling is his most valuable possession.

_Is that why you resent the memories_ Ling asks, casually, _Or is it because you haven't got any of your own?_

Greed shoves their phone into his pocket and grabs keys out of the fruit bowl. _You know that's part of it._

_Careful, you'll start to sound like your sibling._

_I should've never let you meet them._

Ed clears his throat pointedly. "You two done, or can I go back to bed?"

"You weren't even sleeping," Greed waves him off.

Ling retreats a bit in their shared headspace, and Greed lets him. They'd both gotten pretty used to difficult emotional conversations and a certain amount of unkindness-- impossible not to for two minds squished up as closely as they are and having had no prior experience needing to keep their private thoughts in check. Plus, when it comes down to it, they're neither of them particularly nice people.

It's a good fifteen-minute walk to the nearest bus stop. Ling's parents had purchased the flat along with his undergrad tuition in a last-ditch attempt to ensure their son wouldn't prove any more of an embarrassment to the family than he already was, and, classism blinders winning over logic, there is a heated and secure parking garage beneath the building and absolutely no conveniently located public transit. How they had expected Ling to afford a car when he'd been living either on the streets or with Lan Fan and her grandfather since he was fifteen and their next act after the flat and the tuition had been the officially disinherit him and cut all ties, he's really not sure.

Greed had invested the money he'd made from getting rid of the old bar as soon as Ling turned eighteen, and that along with Ed's rent and Ling's stipend from the university mean they've got shelter and food security and can still afford the ever increasing service charges on the flat. 

Greed knows enough about money that they could have a great deal more if they were willing to allow their morals to grey (further), but Ling refuses to go down that road for something is ridiculous as unnecessary wealth. Greed disagrees, but Ling stands firm. Apparently his morals may be flexible, chameleon things, but he still wants to believe he has standards. Greed can understand, to a point.

Ed spends the entire bus ride texting furiously and ignoring them even though their sides are crushed together in the sort of uncomfortable physical intimacy that seems unique to public transport. Greed is pretty sure he used to own a car, before. He's pretty sure it was a nice fucking car. Ling's pouting, because all of Ed's attention isn't focused entirely on him, so Greed starts making a shopping list on their phone.

Ling had made the shopping list mandatory after he realized that given access to a massive supermarket Greed will want to buy three times as much as they actually need and Ed will get distracted by something new every fifteen seconds and emerge with three bags of Cheetos and a zucchini. Greed had put his foot down when Ling had tried to enforce brand specificity-- if he wants to pay an outrageous amount of money for some decent mushrooms he's damn well gonna do it and enjoy the hell out of his mushrooms to boot. If it were left up to Ling they'd probably be living off of fucking instant noodles and ten-pound bags of rice.

"Protein powder," Ed says, without looking up. Greed makes a face, but dutifully types it in.

It isn't until Ed almost walks face-first into a street sign that Ling loses patience. Greed is too busy laughing at the confused look on Ed's face, like the sign had sprung out of nowhere to hit him, to say anything.

"Edward, I hope your conversation is worth the potential of grievous bodily injury and endless humiliation," Ling chirps.

"I'm talking to Al," Ed says, which is as good as a yes.

"Has he found himself yet?" Ling asks, and he even manages to make it sound sincere, though Greed knows damn well he thinks the younger Elric's international jaunt to 'figure out what he really wants from life' is indulgent to the point of parody. Ling has a hard time understanding how anyone can live without a concrete set of almost unattainable goals to work towards.

"I dunno," Ed mutters. "He's definitely found a cat, though. He got kicked out of his hostel because he tried to smuggle it in."

Ling makes a noise vaguely like a cooing pigeon. "Your brother is too good for this world."

"Yeah," says Ed, and clearly means it, which is kind of uncomfortable to witness.

Ed's phone makes a new trilling sound while they're all contemplating the apples. It's different from his text sound, and when Greed glances over at him he's got an obnoxiously happy grin and is leaning close to his phone screen like he's scared somebody's gonna take it away from him.

"Tell me that's not Mustang," Greed says, flatly.

_I told you,_ Ling says. _Love of his life._

"What's it to you?" Ed demands, because he apparently gets all of his social interaction from films.

"Literally nothing," Greed says, and starts dumping apples into a plastic bag, since apparently nobody else is gonna make a choice.

Ed is silent for about fifteen seconds before he snorts out a laugh that he immediately tries to hide behind a cough. Greed wants to ignore him, but Ling turns to glance over their shoulder and arches an eyebrow.

"It's nothing," Ed mutters. "He's just telling me dumb shit about his unit. Also, his bigwig commander guy is literally named King. Like, that's his actual legal first name."

Greed does not flinch, and anyone who says he does is a fucking liar.

_Coincidence,_ Ling says, smoothly taking control of their whole body.

_Obviously,_ Greed grumbles.

They make it through the produce section before Ling sighs internally and taps Ed's shoulder. "Do you know King's last name?"

Ed frowns. "I... probably? Hang on." He scrolls his phone screen, clicking his tongue against the back of his teeth as he reads. "It is... Bradley. Why?"

"I was hoping it was equally as ridiculous," Ling says, lightly, which is fucking fantastic because Greed has suddenly decided he needs to spend a few minutes in the back of their headspace staring at the metaphorical ceiling and thinking about absolutely nothing.

_Well,_ Ling says. _That was an exciting little romance while it lasted._

Greed emerges from his perfectly reasonable and normal state of blankness to say, _We're not letting my fucking brother become fucking Prime Minister._

_That's a bit of a leap,_ Ling says, and Greed bristles.

_Fuck you, your mind went there just as fast. As soon as he realizes Mustang's never gonna convince Ed to come work for the military, Mustang's gonna suffer a tragic accident somewhere where nobody can prove anything._

_Or,_ Ling says, patiently, _Once it becomes evident Ed won't be signing over his research, Bradley will simply discard Mustang as a failed strategy and move on. I'm sure Mustang has been smart enough to keep his political aspirations close to the vest._

_You don't know my brother,_ he says, flatly. _Even if by some weird chance he doesn't know about his future goals, Wrath'd kill him just for inconveniencing him if he doesn't convince Ed._

_And what do you suggest we do?_ Ling drops a massive bag of lemons into the cart. Greed's... not even gonna ask. _We can't exactly fly to wherever your brother is stationed and kill him in his sleep._

_Are you sure?_ Greed asks, still expressionless. He can tell it's unsettling Ling, but if he lets himself feel anything right now it's going to lead to a variety of memories involving Wrath and a lot of large knives and then the sensation of never being safe, never being able to run far enough or hide well enough. And that's just what he remembers. The process to transfer Greed to a new body had been fucking held together with spit and chewing gum and a couple dusty library books to begin with, and the myriad of unexpected problems that had wound up with Ling volunteering his body at literally the last minute had had some... side-effects. Greed's consciousness, his personality, had made it over safe, but most of his memories had faded into distant, dream-like fragments within a month or two.

_Yes. Lan Fan could maybe pull it off, but then I'd owe her even more than I already do._

Greed watches silently while Ling and Ed cheerfully toss boxes of store-brand cereal into the cart and spend two minutes calculating which peanut butter is cheapest.

_I can't believe you're taking advantage of my... distraction... to buy shitty food._

Ling huffs. _Your panic attack, you mean? And it's not shitty, it's perfectly decent. Just because it doesn't cost an exorbitant amount of money..._

_I am not panicking, what the fuck?_

"Oh my God," Ed says, "You can never judge me for being on my phone all the time, you two have been zoned out chatting away to each other like, almost the whole time we've been here."

"Sorry, Ed," Ling says. "I suppose we have been rather rude."

Ed rolls his eyes. "Yeah, well, what else is new?"

"Aww, were you worried about us?" Ling crows, draping an arm around Ed's shoulders and dragging him toward the pancake mix.

"I was fucking not, and do not even think about it, I want real pancakes, you have to work to earn your forgiveness."

Ling starts whining about what defines a "real pancake", but Greed is starting to get an idea.

_Ok,_ he says. _We can't go there. But maybe we don't have to._

Ling doesn't say a word, but he pulls out his phone and texts Lan Fan.

'I want you to know, preemptively, that this is going to be your fault'

*

When Roy had checked his calendar to see ten days of leave coming up, he'd mostly planned to throw a dart at a list of nearby countries, hop on a flight, and hole up in a hotel room with a soft mattress and an excellent restaurant and a decent bar. Preferably somewhere where nobody knew him.

Instead, he's folded into an uncomfortable economy seat on an international flight home. Well, close to home. To Edward's home. Which is... well. It's nowhere near what he'd been expecting, but he can't say he's entirely displeased with it.

If he's being honest with himself, he knows his interest in anything beyond polite friendship with Edward is inadvisable. To put it lightly. Bradley had made it quite clear that someone, somewhere had proof of fraternization between the two of them, back when Roy was Ed's CO. Roy never let anything get very far, but he certainly didn't stop before the potential for damning photographic evidence and even a well-hidden audio recording was very present. Even the few kisses they had shared are enough to make a mess of his career in the right hands.

The orders to convince Ed to sign a contract with the military as soon as he graduates had been a surprise. Roy knew, even back when they served together, that Edward was brilliant. He'd been frankly delighted when Ed had left the military to pursue higher education. But Roy had been determined to put his feelings for Ed firmly where they belonged, in the past, so he hadn't followed his academic career beyond the few unilluminating Facebook updates Ed posted about every nine months.

Once he'd done some research into the work Ed was doing, he'd been astounded, again, by his brilliance. And also horrified. Because Roy is not at all well-versed in biochemistry, but even he can see the potential for Ed's work to be weaponized. Thankfully Ed's disdain for the military has only increased with his absence from it, and Roy is almost certain that nothing he can say will convince Ed to come anywhere near anything military with his research. It had taken Roy an embarrassingly long time to realize that Ed had figured out that Roy had been assigned specifically to him, and that he was deliberately leaving the vaguest possibility that he might say yes in order to keep up their correspondence. Roy hadn't known how to tell him he'd happily continue talking to Ed without an excuse if he didn't think Bradley would use it against him just for his own vindictive pleasure.

And yet, somehow, Edward had figured it out. Roy supposes he shouldn't have been surprised. They've both grown up, grown into more stable, self-aware versions of themselves in the intervening years. If nothing else, Roy likes to think he'd never be tempted to engage in any sort of unprofessional relationship with a subordinate now, let alone actually let it happen. So when Edward had sent him the message, two days before his leave started, asking Roy to come visit him so they could discuss the possibility of "some sort of contractual, arms-length, no-bullshit kinda set up" he had agreed before his better judgement could stand in his way. Bradley had seemed satisfied with the arrangement, smirking at Roy in a way that left him desperately wanting a shower.

He's also not expecting Edward to meet him at the airport, but the younger man seems determined to upset all of Roy's preconceived assumptions. Roy at least doesn’t know what he’s expecting out of this encounter—surely Edward isn’t expecting them to rekindle whatever ill-advised thing they’d had going on before? Surely Edward has found someone his own age, someone who understands his science and doesn’t wake up in a cold sweat most nights. Surely it’s only Roy who still harbours some sort of nebulous attraction, physical, emotional, academic. Roy’s expecting it to fade once he meets Edward in person, if he’s being honest. As much as they have corresponded over the last few months, as many times as Roy has scrolled over pictures of this older version of his former subordinate on Facebook, he is still a little bit in love with a memory. Or so he thinks.

As soon as Roy clears customs he’s waylaid by Edward. No time to prepare himself, no moment to script what he’s going to say or straighten his hair or wipe the coffee stain off the collar of his shirt. He recognizes him immediately, though he thinks his voice has deepened a bit, and his posture is a lazy slouch instead of the straight-backed lines of a soldier.

“Hey, hey, C-- Mustang!" Ed reaches out a hand like he's going for a handshake, notices Roy's suitcase in one hand and customs documents in the other, and goes for an endearingly awkward shoulder pat instead. "Shit, I can't believe you actually came. I mean, obviously you came, you're here, but-- Huh. You look terrible."

"Thank you," Roy says, amused. "I can't say the same about you."

Ed's hair is long like Roy's never seen it, braided back out of his way, and the dark circles under his eyes are faint. He's wrapped up in a red hoodie and jeans with a grey scarf wrapped around his shoulders, but Roy can tell even under the layers that he's a healthy weight, and the way he's moving, Roy would have to watch very closely to see the slight shifts to accommodate the prosthetics.

"Come on, we've got a bit of a ways to go to get back to my place."

"I-- I was going to get a hotel."

"Fuck that, we have a perfectly good couch."

Roy frowns. "I'm not sure it would be appropriate--"

"I am!" Ed says, glaring and snatching Roy's suitcase away from him. "I was the one who dragged your ass here, the least I can do is offer you somewhere to sleep."

At least, Roy reflects, he has offered the couch. There's only so much Roy's heart and libido can take.

Once they're on the train, Roy turns to Ed, resting a hand on his forearm. "Edward. I just need to set my mind at ease-- I'm not actually here to discuss the military contract with you?"

Ed snorts. "No. That is, uh, definitely not why you're here."

Roy frowns. "So, if you'll forgive me being blunt, why am I here, Edward?"

Ed blushes. Bright, and hot, and fast. It's almost cartoonish, and he obviously knows it, ducking his chin against his chest. "Um," he says.

Roy waits, but Ed seems to think this is an adequate explanation. If the way he's been chewing on his bottom lip and sneaking glances at Roy from the corner of his eyes since he got off the plane is anything to go by, Roy can follow the path of abductive reasoning to a conclusion that-- well. He's not exactly complaining.

Ed had never been able to make small talk, and it doesn't appear he's gained any new skills in the past years. Roy asks him about his brother, and the people he works with, and his classes, and lets the resulting torrent of words rush over him like a shower of pebbles bouncing hard and smoothed and clean against his skin. The conversation takes them off the train, onto a bus, and down a long series of quiet streets, the sharp calls of crows and crunch of dead leaves undercut by the purr of expensive cars gliding past. It's... a far nicer neighbourhood than Roy was expecting Edward to live in, if he's being honest.

"Uh," says Ed, as he pulls keys out of his hoodie pocket and turns to the steps in front of one of the newer blocks of flats. "I should probably warn you about my flatmate."

"Not your brother?”

"Oh, yeah, I mean, we're going to be? Flatmates, I mean. Al's been off like, backpacking around and getting in touch with nature and his spirit of adventure and stuff, and we haven't been at schools in the same city since undergrad. So when he comes back I'm sure we're gonna figure something out. No point paying rent on two places, right?"

Roy nods, though he wonders what al thinks of this vague plan. He also imagines the past years of distance from his brother have been hard on Edward-- Roy knows more about the Elrics' childhood than he suspects most people do, and he understands the desperate interdependence the brothers had developed.

"So, your flatmate," Roy says. Ed punches the button for the elevator and glances over at Roy. "It's not actually like... a big deal. He can just be... enthusiastic. You know what, never mind, you'll get what I mean."

Roy inclines his head and does not allow himself any feelings of trepidation. This is Ed's home turf. His space. He will trust Ed not to steer him wrong.

The first thing he notices about Edward's space is that it is positively covered in books. End tables (which may just be stacks of cinder blocks with scarves draped over them) are stacked high, the chairs and sofa hold smaller piles, even the top of the microwave has failed to escape. Ed drops Roy's suitcase in the front entryway and hurries over to the sofa, scooping the books into a teetering armful that he dumps unapologetically onto the kitchen counter, barely missing a frighteningly large bag of coffee beans where it sits open and leaning up against the wall.

"Ok, sorry, the couch is all yours, we won't leave our shit everywhere while you're here, I swear," Ed mutters. "We've even got blankets and pillows and shit. Sheets, maybe."

"You are eminently kind," Roy says, and it comes out more sincere than he intends. "You didn't need to invite me into your home."

"I did, though," Ed says, and the blush is back, a little less intense this time. "I'm the reason you're here, right?"

"I do hope so," Roy says, smirking a very little bit.

"And obviously you know we're not actually gonna be talking about me handing over my research or coming to work for you guys," Ed says, and Roy is pleased to hear him confirm it. "There's... well, I think you know why I asked you to come. Which sounds dumb when I say it like that, but... Well. You kept emailing back. And texting, these last few weeks. And I know we're all grown up and shit now, but I mean... I still... it didn't just come out of nowhere back then, either."

"It didn't," Roy agrees. He wants to reach out to Ed, but he still looks a little jumpy, and he's got his hands clasped behind his back, bouncing on his toes. Roy glances at the coffee beans again.

"But there's some shit I need to tell you, first. Like... business shit. sort of. And you're not gonna believe me about most of it, so I really don't want to spend a bunch of time with you and then have you decide I'm a crazy person and get the hell out.”

"I can't imagine a situation in which that would happen, but I see your point."

"Ok!" Ed says, too-cheerful. Before he can say anything else, a door down the hallway opens and the man who Roy assumes to be Ed's flatmate bounds into the room.

"You must be the irresistible Roy Mustang," he says, beaming and offering his hand. Roy's eyebrows creep up, but he shakes his hand. He has a firm grip, dry hands, like someone who's had a lot of practice.

"Ugh," says Ed. "Roy, this is my idiot flatmate, Ling. I apologize in advance, he's a history student, he can't help the way he is."

"Political science and history, thank you," Ling objects.

"His brain's got too much fuckin' energy, like mine," Ed continues, "so we get to bond over being the youngest PHD candidates in our respective programs. But that's the only thing we bond over."

"You wound me, Edward," Ling says, touching his chest with an open palm.

"I fuckin' will if you don't shut up," Ed grumbles.

"Ok, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt just before you got to the good part."

"This is literally the worst possible part," Ed says, darkly. "But it's important for him to know before he goes back."

Ling winces. "... Actually," he says, taking a couple steps backward. "I was meaning to talk to you about that."

Roy frowns. Ed glares. "Oh no. What the fuck did you do?"

"I mean, I made sure the discharge was honourable," he says. "And Lan Fan created an entire fake officer to sign off on it in the system, he has a daughter who plays the piano terribly but he still goes to all her concerts, it's very sweet."

"I'm sorry," Roy says, carefully. "I believe I'm missing something."

Ling presses his lips together. "I’ll let Ed explain the details. The paperwork has already gone through, you won't be returning to your base."

"What the fuck, Ling?" Ed demands. "We were just gonna warn him, we agreed!"

Ling's shoulders straighten, and he shakes his head sharply. "You two agreed. I never did. I'm sorry, Edward, but we couldn't take the chance he wasn't trustworthy. If he'd let slip anything to Bradley, his life wouldn't be the only one in danger."

"Oh fuck that, I trust him with my life, you know that! You can't just... end somebody's career because Greed's scared of a little family drama."

Ling turns on his heel, walks back down the hallway fast. "Yes," he says, calmly, over his shoulder. "I can."

Roy stares at Ed. Ed stares at Roy. Roy thinks, very clearly, that he must be in the midst of a stunningly lucid and detailed dream. It's the only thing that makes sense.

Ling pokes his head back out of his bedroom door. "I feel you should know this is far milder than the initial plan. At least nobody is getting locked in the bathroom."


End file.
